"Joe Bob's Drive-In" for 12/11/95
cutline: [TK]
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
I have a question about singers:
How come they use a microphone when they're singin in a place the size of the Salvation Army bathroom?
I mean, you're sittin about FOUR FEET from this chantoose, and she starts wailing away into about 70 tons of sound equipment until the little hairs on the backs of your legs burst into flame.
And if their voices are supposed to be so spectacular--like in the case of the dreaded cabaret act--then why do they want this metallic electrical thingy distorting their Cole Porter lyrics in the first place?
To get an answer, I called up my buddy Hank "The Hammer" Hammett, who's sort of an opera singer. He's NOT an opera singer, but he sings in foreign languages while standing in front of symphony orchestras, so that's good enough for me. As far as I know, the man has never used a mike in his life.
Hank's answer: "Nobody with a decent voice needs a mike."
And I said, "Anywhere?"
And he said, "Anywhere."
And I said, "Not even at the Metropolitan Opera? Not even on Broadway? Not even when you're singin outdoors at the Hollywood Bowl or the Astrodome?"
And Hank says, "You still don't need it."
And then Hank launched into this long story about how he once sang the "Carmina Burana" with a double orchestra in the bullfight ring in Guadalajara. I don't know exactly what the "Carmina Burana" is, but Hank says it's REAL LOUD. And the solo singer has to sing OVER two orchestras, shootin that music right out into the open air, for about 10,000 fidgety Meskins.
"No mike?" I said.
"No mike," says Hank. "Sometimes you can't hear your own voice, but you just trust that you're in the center of the note, and they'll hear you."
So I went ahead and asked the Hankster:
So why is it that when you go to see "Phantom of the Opera" at the Dallas Summer Musicals, they've all got mikes wired to the sides of their heads?
And he says, "Because they haven't learned to sing."
But doesn't it distort the music?
"Yep," Hank said. "It does. The singing would sound better if there were no mikes."
Same thing for Madonna?
"Same thing for Madonna."
Same thing for Michael Bolton?
"Same thing for Michael Bolton."
Same thing for Garth Brooks?
"You DON'T NEED A MIKE!"
The Hammer had spoken, and he was tired of my questions. But it felt good, for once in my life, to be so goldurned RIGHT about something.
You people put the dang microphones down. I do NOT wanna have to tell you again.
And speaking of people who refuse to do the same old thing, I just watched this flick called "Intimate Deception," and just when you think the low-budget erotic thriller has been run so far into the ground that it's poppin out in China, here comes George Saunders, the writer/producer/director/actor who made "Street Angels" for about four bucks. This is his second flick, which he spent about EIGHT bucks on, and it's a truly original flick where he does put the "erotic" back in erotic thriller.
George himself plays the lead, as a scruffy frustrated painter who keeps having these nightmares about the young burglar he blew away three months ago. He and his foxy wife are in danger of losing the old beach house if they don't generate a little extra income, so they rent out a tiny room, and, of course, the gal who moves in is an oversexed bombshell who has to put traffic flags on the front of her blouse, if you know what I mean and I think you do. While she gets busy as George's nude model, the wife starts lurking around the pool of the new next-door hunk, and pretty soon we've got all kinds of Aardvarkus Suburbicus.
You might spot a couple twists in this baby, but you will NO WAY spot the ending, and it's one of those rare ones where there's a lot of sex AND a lot of actual acting.
Where did this George Saunders come from anyhow and how come nobody hired him to do that lame Madonna flick? If he can do this work on this kind of budget, he could even make HER look good.
Seven dead bodies. Thirty-three breasts. One fistfight. Basketball-court tango. Multiple aardvarking. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Nicole Gian, as the wily but sexually frustrated wife who likes to lurk in the neighbor's bushes, for saying "Touch me--please" and "Most beautiful things tend to have a bite to them" and "No matter what, thank you for tonight"; Lisa Boyle, as the knockout nude model who loves her work, for saying "I look at myself as an essential ingredient in the art of creation" and "Believe me, I have a way of making a man scream" and "It's not safe to talk to strangers--it's much safer to kill 'em"; Dan Frank, as the oily hunk who moves in next door and says "Let's just say I have an entrepreneurial spirit"; and George Saunders, the writer, director, producer and haunted artist surrounded by nekkid women, for saying "Stay away from me, Bob, or I promise I will give you a reason to hate me."
Four stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Victory Over the Nineties! Proving that there are still a few civic-minded governments left in America, the City of Huntsville, Ala., reopens an old drive-in every summer and shows free movies on Tuesday nights. And this past season the city's Parks and Recreation Department even spent some money to outfit the drive-in with FM radio sound, since the speaker poles had been ripped down years ago. Dan Renfro of Hickory, N.C., reminds us that, with eternal vigilance, the drive-in will never die. To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and Joe Bob's world-famous newsletter, "The Joe Bob Report," write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221, or Fax him at 214-985-7448, or e-mail him at 76702.1435@compuserve.com.
Dear Joe Bob:
Ever notice how some idiots love to exclaim? In high school, thanks to multi-ink click pens, these dopes ejaculated yearbook salutations in four rainbow colors. The clever ones alternated hues with each letter. Their cheerleaderesque sentences were like bunting soaked in florescent paint--simultaneously limp, soggy and hard on the eyes. With bubbly cursive they wrote things like, "We are the future! Have a great summer and don't go changing! The Beegees Rule!"
And now their kids, poisoned by meaningless hype, endlessly call Corey Haim's "I'll make a mint off buzzard-nosed, acne-faced fat girls who want to rumble my bones" 900 number! What horror! But the frightening truth is that once you start exclaiming you can't stop! In fact, I'm beginning to feel quite cheery! Lighthearted! Ebullient! I'm gaping with glee! Oh, I've been such a stuffy cummerbund! Don't hate me, but I must confess! I love "Star Search"! Ed McMahon is just a cutie! "Cutie" is so especially cute in quotation marks! Tee hee! Where did I put those hollow points!
Losing precious bodily fluids!
Sgt. Doug Pitts
U.S. Marine Corps (ret.)
Daly City, Calif.
Dear
Sarge:
Stay sweet!
Love ya!
And always Follow Your Dream!
Dear Joe Bob,
I've been hearing a lot about Colorado Gay Boycotts and California Gay Boy Scouts lately, and the more I think about it, the more I come to this simple conclusion:
Gays are like asparagus.
Some people like asparagus. Some people don't. Some people flat-out hate asparagus. They hate it so much that even a little bit of asparagus in a casserole is enough to make them want to puke. They may even feel like driving up to Salinas and ripping out the asparagus patches altogether, which is a bad idea because, first, it shows you're spending way too much time thinking about asparagus, and second, some farmer is liable to smack you over the head with a rake. Well, the point is, it's all right to not like asparagus. You can get through your whole life without it just fine. The people that like asparagus can have their asparagus, and you can have something else. Broccoli, maybe.
But there's a problem here. Because no matter how civilized and mature you are about the whole thing, your mother is bound to try to make you eat asparagus. And she won't stop there; she wants you to eat it and like it. And the more she tries to get you to eat it, the more you end up hating asparagus. First she says you're afraid of it, which is stupid. Then she points to your brother and tells you what a good boy he is because he eats his asparagus, but that doesn't work either, so finally she says if you don't eat your asparagus, your dad is going to beat the crap out of you. Which is always, always how these things end. And you know what? You wind up hating your mom, your dad, your brother and asparagus.
I'm thirty-five years old. That's more than old enough to know whether I like asparagus or not, and the fact is, I don't. Nothing my mother says is ever going to change that, any more than it did when I was seven. I've got friends that like it, and as far as I'm concerned they can have all they want, although I'd prefer they didn't eat it around me.
Just the sight and smell of those slimy green things give me the willies.
Dennis Nivens
Hermosa Beach, Calif.
Dear
Dennis:
We're all very grateful that you chose a vegetable and not a fruit for your analogy.
Dear Joe Bob,
We have a book here that comes out once a year called "The Reel West Digest." It lists all the local film industry-related services. It also has a photo section of performers (mostly people just starting out). I just about had kittens when I opened it and found Fred Williamson (!) hawking himself, a scant page away from "Toothpick the Clown" yet. It truly is "Hollywood North" now. Brett Halsey is living somewhere here as well.
It's been the best year yet for film here. Pretty standard stuff, save for the two "Ernest" TV movies shooting right now, and "Time Cop" in September with Jean-Claude Van Damme. Gotta get on that one.
Best always,
Michael McQuarrie
North Vancouver, B.C., Canada
Dear
Michael:
Tell those guys who make all the New
York movies in Vancouver to put a WHOLE LOT MORE TRASH ON THE STREET.
Let's have a little REALITY here.
Joe Bob, Joe Bob, Joe Bob!
If you could co-star with any female in a movie, who would it be and why?
Eternally yers,
Peter L. Osterholm
San Francisco
Dear
Peter:
My preferred female co-star would be Michelle Bauer, for two obvious reasons.
Dear Joe Bob,
You'll get all kindsa flack from your "Best" Awards, of course -- Here's some for you now!
Ava Cadell for "Breast Actress"???? I gotta admit, that's a marvelous picture of her that you ran--but my God, Joe, Cameron in "Sunset Strip" (which somehow showed up on HBO last month) is a real-life, living, breathing Jennifer Rabbit!!
Is that her imitation of Jennifer R., or was she the model they drew her bod after??
That steamy strip session alone put her at the top of my book. In fact, I was intending to write and wonder why we'd never heard of her in the rag--and here she pops up, kinda as an aside.
No, no, Joseph. That there is BIG-TIME talent worth any award that you got!
What else might we see her in? I don't remember seeing or hearing of her before "Sunset Strip"; surely I'd remember something like THAT!
Rick Meyer
Independence, Mo.
Dear
Rick:
Cameron not only DESERVED her Breast
Actress nomination. She actively campaigned to win the award, by running
full-page ads in Variety and Hollywood Reporter.
Alas, the Drive-In Academy can't be influenced THAT easily. She should have used money.
© 1995 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved